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Chapter Two:

"You're over here," Sam comments as he steps into the room. "Makes a change."

Connie just nods, her vocal chords stricken by a sudden, irrational fear. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe she should just tell him that she wants to go back to how things were – attempt to be professional in all aspects of their relationship, except for Grace.

But somewhere inside, Connie fights to silence this voice. For once, she doesn't want to self-sabotage herself, as she always manages to do. First with Michael, then with Sam, and then again with Jacob – this hospital seems to see her making the worst decisions when it comes to romance and men.

Then she realises that Sam's expecting an answer beyond a nod, and she just about manages to swallow. Has she ever been this nervous before? "Er, yes," she begins, almost proud of herself for getting a word out. "I…I…it felt a bit…" she trails off, knowing exactly what she wants to say and not being able to say it. This is her downfall, it's her downfall every time she has the chance to mend her relationship with Grace – she just can't get the words out, and the other person in the conversation doesn't believe she can get the words out.

"Formal?" Sam supplies, a small-ish smile on his face. He walks across the room slowly, arms spread open, and gestures to the space next to Connie. "Yeah I would agree. May I?"

"Yes, of course," Connie replies, irrationally pleased with herself for getting an entire three words not. Not that they were particularly emotional words, of course. "I…I…" She begins, but she can't get the words out.

For the first time, though, Sam doesn't interrupt, and he doesn't expect her to rush. Strange, she thinks. He always tries to get the first – and the last – word.

"I…I'm not good at this," she confesses, and Sam laughs a little. Only with his laugh does she feel the tension release, and realise that there was any to begin with.

"You don't say," Sam says, but, for once, he doesn't sound mocking. He sounds genuine. Connie turns to look at him, and his expression is open. "Take your time. I won't interrupt."

Connie takes a couple of deep breaths before moving her body slightly, so that she's almost directly facing Sam. She hopes that this might help her to actually get the words out – to look into his eyes and find out how to phrase that she wants to be with him, but she doesn't know if they'd work.

"I never thought that we'd ever be in this situation again – not that it ever really happened before, but," Connie begins, rambling a little. Maybe if she stops overthinking things, it'll be easier. "But then this afternoon happened, and…you make me so angry, Sam, but you also…you…you…" she trails off but, true to his word, Sam doesn't interrupt – even though it looks like he wants to.

"You're kind, and you're funny, and I like who you are," the words come out, and she notices that he's a little surprised. "And I don't know how it would work because we seem incapable of having a conversation without an argument…but…but, if you are too, I want to try."

Sam smiles and shifts over a little, closing the gap between them. "Very eloquently put," he comments, and she can't quite tell if he's taking the mick out of her. "We have so much history…it's just become a habit to argue with you, even if I agree with what you're saying."

Connie nods, and begins to wonder whether she was right to open up. It almost sounds as though Sam's trying to let her down gently.

"But I didn't see you for ten years, pretty much, and it was strange because all I wanted to do was see you at the same time as I wanted to forget you," Sam continues, looking away at the floor for a moment. When his gaze meets Connie's again, it's full of passion and longing – and openness. Once again, he's opening up to her. "I wanted to forget you because nobody measured up to you, not one bit. And I hated how much power you had over me, even on the other side of the world. So when I saw you again, those feelings bubbled to the surface – and it just became a competition again."

"What are you saying?" Connie whispers, not daring to let her hopes build again, just for him to dash them.

"What I'm saying, Connie, is that…you're right," Sam replies, biting the inside of his cheek a little. "There's always been something here, but we were always too stubborn to consider changing ourselves – or our priorities – to consider what we could be."

"True," Connie concedes. Not that it's really a concession, she thinks, as he's simply agreeing with her.

"Well, you did say it," Sam replies, laughing a little. "I'm not good at talking about feelings, but I'd like to try just being us. Just being Sam and Connie, not Mrs Beauchamp, Clinical Lead, and Mr Strachan, God Knows What I Am. Because that's where we've always gone wrong, isn't it?"

They're still looking at each other, but Connie can't bring herself to look at anything other than Sam Strachan. It's like, as of this moment, he's a completely different person, someone she hasn't seen before. Someone who – for the first time – is willing to concede to her that they've both been stubborn in the past. And for Sam Strachan to admit a mistake…it's strange.

"So we're agreed?" Connie confirms, irrationally wanting clarification. They've spoken and literally stared at one another for a whole conversation, and she's still not sure that she can believe that they are actually a "they".

Sam smirks a little, and Connie's eyes flit from his eyes down to his mouth for a moment.

"You make it sound like a business arrangement," he says, leaning even closer. She realises that she too has moved, and they're almost in the centre of the sofa together. "But yes, we're agreed. We'll…let's go out for a drink or something later. Talk, as people who might or might not end up wanting to go for another drink together. No pressure."

"Just Sam and Connie having a drink," Connie murmurs.

Sam laughs. "Yes, exactly."

She's not sure which of them leans in first, but their lips meet, and it's as if they're back where they left off in that store cupboard, desperate for one another.

This time, however, they show restraint, and a short while later, they're both sitting next to one another on the sofa, albeit with no gap between their bodies. Just about professional enough if someone walks into the office, Connie decides, except for the fact that Sam's arm has somehow twisted itself around her shoulders.

"Now, Mrs Beauchamp, just why did the CEO want a word with you?" Sam asks, his voice sultry in the way that he's always known she can't resist.

She tells him.

It takes Dylan a couple of moments to process what his patient, Sean Taylor, has said to him. "Because my dad's a medical inspector or something for hospitals – and I'm going to tell him exactly how shit a doctor you are!"

Damnit. How does he always manage to acquire the patients who can actually cause problems. Other than Connie and that Hayley woman when she first started, he can't remember another time either of his fellow consultants managed to get the problematic patient. Well, except for Elle and Grace Beauchamp-Strachan, but that hardly counts. Unlike himself, of course. He's had more than the rest of them put together – and that Sebastian Coe, too. Even his mentees are problematic in this hospital.

He takes a moment to consider his next move, before deciding that the pacifying route is probably the best. He hates it – it feels sleazy – but he can't be doing with the paperwork and bureaucracy that comes with a complaint. Especially not from the son of a medical inspector.

"Look, Sean, I'm sorry if I seemed rude," Dylan says, just about forcing the words out. He tries to make his voice sincere, though he's not entirely sure how successfully he manages it. "It just really irritates me that bright young people like yourself, who know exactly the state of the NHS at the moment, choose to come into an Emergency Department, when you could quite easily have gone to the GP or Minor Injuries Unit. It's nothing personal."

Sean narrows his eyes, assessing Dylan. "I don't care. You were rude, and I'm telling my dad."

"You sound like a petulant child," Dylan spits out, unable to help himself. "I've said I'm sorry, and I am. Now I'm going to go and treat a patient who actually needs treating. Goodbye, Sean."

As he walks out of the cubicle, Dylan forces himself to put the patient out of his mind. If anything happens, it happens. It won't be the end of the world – and at least he's already apologised.

A couple of hours later, about half an hour before the shift is due to end, Connie calls Dylan and Elle into her office, intending on telling them about the new arrangement with Darwin.

As she waits for them to enter, she prays that Sam hasn't told anyone in the hour since she told him. He shouldn't – he should know that it's confidential information until the highest ranking members of the department are told – but he might slip up. He's done it before, when he accidentally managed to tell the entire ward that she was pregnant with Grace.

She feels a little guilty for doubting him, but forces herself to push that out of her mind. This is exactly the sort of issue that might cause their relationship – if it ever exists – to fail, she decides. The interface between their professional and personal lives has always been calamitous. There's going to need to be boundaries drawn…but that's a conversation for another day and another time.

"Connie," Elle says as she pokes her head around the door. "Dylan's on his way down from cubicles, so he shouldn't be too long. Do you want me to grab you a coffee or anything?"

Connie shakes her head, gesturing for Elle to enter her office. "I've already got some for us all – hope your order hasn't changed." She tries her best to be semi-jovial, in that weird professional way of hers, and wonders if she succeeds. Elle's expression is confused, so she supposes that it must have worked, at least a little.

"Thanks," Elle says slowly, stepping fully through the door, though she leaves it ajar.

Then there's an awkward silence as Elle takes one of the seats in front of Connie's desk, with neither of them entirely sure what to say. Besides a couple of times in the department, they've not really spoken since Connie ended the inquest into Elle's alleged misconduct; they rarely work in the same sector of the ED on any given shift. It's worked well for them so far, but it's left both of them very unprepared for a situation where they're in a room together, alone, with nobody else around to break the silence.

Connie decides, as Clinical Lead, it's her job to initiate a conversation, so she says, "did you have a nice weekend?" It's only Tuesday, so she thinks that she can get away with asking.

Elle smiles widely and nods. "Yes, it was lovely! Took the boys out to go-carting at Excape, which was nice – they don't normally want to spend a lot of time with their old mum, but I guess it has some perks, as I paid for everything!" She's as exuberant as ever, and Connie almost regrets asking the question. "Then we went to TGI Friday's, which I would not recommend, not sure if you're fan, but the one at Excape was painful. We even managed to fit in a trip to the seaside on Sunday, though I could tell that they were desperate to get home by the end."

There's silence as Elle pauses for breath, and Connie smiles a little. At least it's filled the silence – and Elle hasn't asked any questions about her life.

"Sounds lovely," Connie replies, trying to sound enthused. She's lucky, she supposes, that she has a daughter. "I do hope you had an ice-cream at the beach – it was lovely weather, wasn't it?"

Before Elle can reply, Dylan pops through the door and closes it. Surprisingly, he takes a seat before Connie even has to ask him – though something tells her that he's a little more distracted than normal.

"Look, Dylan, Connie's got us coffee!" Elle comments before Connie can say anything, lifting Dylan's cup and sticking it in his hand. "Any meeting is a million times less painful with coffee – no offence," Elle continues, quickly adding the last bit as she meets Connie's gaze.

"None taken," Connie replies, taking a sip of her own drink. She's not going to sleep tonight, with the amount of caffeine that she's consumed. "Well, since we're all here, I suppose we can get started."

"Make it quick," Dylan says, setting his coffee down on the side. "It's a bit cold, but thank you."

Connie hesitates for a moment, wondering whether she should try and make a bit of small talk before she decides against it. Dylan appreciates it even less than she does, and she's had her obligatory conversation with Elle.

"So, I had a meeting with Henrik earlier – completely out of the blue," Connie begins. "He's decided that he wants me to work between the ED and Darwin, primarily as an advisory figure upstairs with regards to the Centre of Excellence status."

She notices that Dylan's expression becomes angry and Elle appears confused. Excellent.

"Once again, the hospital bureaucracy is leaving the ED understaffed," Dylan comments, his tone angry. "Very well, looks like I'll have to throw another person's phone in their drink." He picks up his coffee, and takes another long sip. "Still cold. Great."

Elle looks across at Dylan and smiles in amazement. "Dylan, did you just make a joke?"

Dylan looks ready to reply, so Connie interrupts.

"I'm as unimpressed with the situation as you are, Dylan. It certainly wasn't my choice. I've secured an agreement that I will work upstairs two or three days a week, and work down here the other two. I've also ensured that, should the department struggle with my absence, locum support will be allocated as and when required." Well, she thinks, she still needs to get it in writing, but the agreement's pretty much confirmed, anyway.

Elle looks thoughtful, whilst Dylan's angry expression has faded a little.

"So what happens to your responsibilities?" Dylan asks, "as I'm almost certain that it's impossible to be in two places at once, Connie. Though I'm sure that if anyone can do it, it's you."

"Yes, that's a concern," Elle adds. "I know that your priorities remain unchanged down here, but I'm not sure how you'll manage to do it when you're only here two days a week…and the paperwork. You get so much paperwork to do – and meetings! How can you do two jobs at once?"

Connie smiles a little, and wonders privately just why Elle ever accepted the Clinical Lead position in the first place.

"Well, I was hoping that you two would help out a little," she responds, noticing Dylan's gaze shoot up to meet hers. He had to have suspected it, surely? "I will still take responsibility and do as much paperwork as I can, but if you could run the department in my absence, it would be greatly appreciated."

"I'll take charge of rotas," Dylan immediately exclaims, surprising Connie a little. "I'll make sure that Strachan and I are never on the same shift," he continues, grumbling a little about the issues with Sam Strachan.

"Very well," Connie agrees, mentally making a note to check all rotas submitted to HR. "And you, Elle?"

Elle hesitates, and Connie wonders whether she's massively misjudged her fellow consultant.

"I…sure," Elle agrees suddenly. "Henrik clearly thinks that you're the woman for the job upstairs, so I'm sure that I can help you out down here. And it's not like you're disappearing forever, is it?" Elle suddenly sounds a little panicked, and Connie decides to reassure her.

"No, no, it's definitely not forever – I made that very clear to Henrik," Connie clarifies. "I'd like to hope it's only a few weeks, but it could be a matter of months. If, however, the arrangement endangers patients at all, I will call it off and return down here immediately. You have my word."

"Well if that's everything," Dylan says, standing up suddenly. "I need to go and get a coffee that's hot. Good day." He walks out of the door, leaving it open as he always does.

"And I should go and check on my patient," Elle continues, smiling a little at Connie. "When does this start, by the way?"

Grimacing a little, Connie looks back at Elle. "Monday," she says, noticing Elle wince a little. "I know, I know, it's completely out of my hands. At least it's not the day before, which makes a nice change with Henrik."

"Absolutely," Elle agrees, stepping back towards the door, coffee in hand. "Thanks again for the coffee. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," Connie agrees, and waits for the door to close. When it does, she lets out a deep breath, taking a second to process the meeting.

It's gone better than she thought it might have, she reflects. Dylan, whilst obviously unimpressed, didn't refuse to take on any extra responsibility, and Elle seems willing to try. It's also as she promised them: the moment that patient care is compromised is the moment that she steps away from Darwin, regardless of what Henrik Hanssen has to say.

She didn't bother to tell them what Sam said when she told him, because she didn't think that they'd appreciate being told that a registrar – who, until recently, had threatened their jobs – was willing to help with the paperwork side of things. And after Dylan made a comment about dropping Sam's phone in his drink, Connie realised that it would be best to keep Sam's name out of the conversation altogether.

The phone on her desk starts ringing, jolting Connie out of her reverie, and she picks it up, half in a daze.

"Connie Beauchamp, ED Clinical Lead," she says.

"Not for long you're not," a jovially familiar voice responds. Jac. "So I hear we're to be work buddies again, Connie. Bet you're excited to get back up to where the real action happens."

Connie smiles, despite herself. "Well, the action starts down here, Jac," she counters. "And that's not really what it's about is it? It's me coming up to save the day, as usual."

"Yes, well, that's a side issue – what's really interesting is that you're leaving Sam Strachan down in your ED," Jac replies. "Aren't you scared that it'll disappear when you're not looking?"

Blushing, Connie's glad that she's sat alone. "Not at all. I can handle Sam Strachan." She deliberately keeps her voice neutral, but it's harder than she expected it to be.

"Well, if there anyone who can, it's you, Connie."

She meets Sam in her office, a little after the rest of the team have finished their shift. Connie's more than a little nervous about this…it's not exactly a date, but that's probably the closest word to going for a drink.

"Hey," Sam says gently as he pushes her door open. "You ready to go?"

She is, having recently reapplied almost all of her makeup, and so stands up. "Yes, I just need to drop this file off at the front desk on the way out," Connie replies, indicating to the file on the desk. "Good shift?"

"It was alright," Sam says, hovering in the doorway. "Would be a lot better if I wasn't stuck on minors, but I suppose that…you're right. I'm not a trauma surgeon."

"You're not a trauma doctor," she corrects him, crossing her office so that they're almost touching. "We're not surgeons down here, Sam. No matter how much we might want to be."

She closes the door behind them and they walk through the centre of the ED in silence. The department's still pretty empty, which surprises Connie. Normally there's a lot more hustle and bustle than this. Connie drops the file on the relevant pile in the centre of the desk, and then makes her way back out towards Sam.

"Not embarrassed to be seen with me?" Sam asks, chuckling a little as they briskly make their way towards the exit. "I would have thought you'd want to keep this quiet."

Connie looks across at him, her expression a little stern. "Sshh," she says. "Don't talk about it. I mean, we have a daughter together; I'm sure it's reasonable that we walk out of work together."

They don't talk again until they're outside the ED. Almost as soon as they step outside, Connie feels an invisible pressure lift. They no longer have to be doctors, ones who usually disagree on the best course of action to take. Now they're just Connie and Sam.

"Just Connie and Sam," Sam says, as if he's reading her mind. Which, to be honest, he could be.

"Just Connie and Sam," Connie repeats, smiling a little.

They stand to the side of the entrance for a moment, neither of them sure what to do.

"Rope and Anchor?" Sam suggests after a moment. "Or, actually, I think Noel said that the team were heading over there – we could go somewhere else?"

Connie hesitates for a moment, and she can sense that Sam thinks that she's reconsidering her decision – which isn't entirely unfair. She's been known to make one decision and then change it suddenly when it comes to Sam Strachan.

"I…I don't think I want a drink," she says, hesitating a little. Sam's expression falls. "Not that I don't want to spend time with you – that's not it."

She takes a deep breath.

"What is it?" Sam asks, his expression a cross between confused and concerned.

"I don't like to drink and drive," she continues, forcing herself to speak. It's like before; she doesn't want to confess something that makes her vulnerable. But she must. "Not after…what happened."

It's the first time that they've even vaguely spoken about the accident from her point of view.

"Oh yeah, of course, I'm sorry," he mutters, looking away for a moment. "I didn't think…sorry…"

"It's fine," Connie says immediately, waving a hand. "But I'd quite like a hot drink, if that suits?" She feels weird, but everything about this is weird.

And nothing is, at the same time.

Sam nods, meeting her gaze once again. She's relieved to see that the concerned expression has disappeared, replaced instead by an intrigued one. He's open, and she hopes that she can be, too.

"Coffee sounds good."

They head across to the coffee stall across the way from the ED, walking past the memorial to Cal on the way. It's still difficult to think about the fact that one of her doctors is gone forever, and Connie admits this. It's part of her attempt to be open, even if it is talking about work.

She pays for their drinks – and he makes a quip about the fact that he's practically unemployed nowadays – before they take them across towards the main hospital building. There's a reflective garden outside, one that she rarely used when she worked in this sector of the hospital, but it's quite nice to walk through.

It's surprisingly easy to talk to Sam, Connie thinks, as they walk around the garden, hidden from view by the various trees and bushes. She doesn't want to correct him—she doesn't need to correct him.

"I have to say, I preferred the Top of the Rock to the Empire State Building," Sam says, answering a question Connie asked him about New York. "There's just something so…majestic about the view of the Empire State Building in your view of the New York skyline. It's as if it epitomises what the city is about – or Manhattan, anyway."

"It's been a few years since I last went – of course – but, I have to say, I think that Brooklyn was my favourite," Connie muses, thinking back to the last time she was in New York. It was for an organ donation conference, back when she worked for the board in Switzerland, and she had spent four days in the city. Sam had had Grace for almost the whole time, which was fair, so she had had the chance to explore the city by herself, between the various talks she attended.

Sam looks across at her, his interest piqued. "Brooklyn Bridge, by any chance?" He asks, and Connie nods. "Don't ask me why, I just knew that you'd like that."

Connie laughs. "I'll try not to take it personally that you're comparing me to a bridge, Sam," she says, trying to joke with him. It feels natural, too natural for them to ignore it.

She doesn't know how long they spend in the garden, but they're still walking long after their cups are empty. But then she feels the need to check her watch, and sees that it's after 7pm. And then she remembers Grace.

"You should go," Connie says, interrupting Sam as he tells her about the view he had of Andy Murray at the US Open last year.

He stops talking, and she can see a hurt expression forming on his face. That's something about Sam that she's always liked: he's never quite able to hide his emotions, no matter how much he wants to.

"Right…" he trails off.

"Grace," Connie reminds him, her voice gentle. "You need to go home to Grace. She needs you." It hurts her to say it, because no matter how much she wants to be there too, she can't be. Not yet, anyway.

Sam reaches out and places a hand on Connie's shoulder, his expression gentle. It's so strangely formal compared to how intimate they were earlier, but it feels right. They should go slow.

"She's going to come back to you," Sam says, one corner of his mouth twisting into a smile. "She's just stubborn – exactly like her mother. It's going to be hard having two Beauchamp women around, but I guess it'll be pretty fun as well."

She smiles back and steps forwards, so that they're almost – but not quite – hugging. "Thanks, Sam. It's been lovely."

"And definitely better than having a drink in a stuffy pub where there might even be people drinking chardonnay," Sam replies, making Connie laugh. "I still think that the only ban on migration should be against people who drink chardonnay."

"And beer," Connie adds, shivering a little.

"Now that's maybe something we're going to disagree on, Connie," Sam jokes, wrapping his arm around her back tentatively. "I don't know about you, but I'd like to go for another drink, perhaps? And maybe some food with it?"

"I'd like that very much."

She pulls away first, realising that if they stay there much longer, she's not going to let him go back to Grace – and that's not right. Their daughter shouldn't suffer.

"Well, I'll see you in the morning, Sam," she adds, smiling a little. "Have a nice night."

"You too, Connie," Sam replies, a little mischief in his eyes. "Don't miss me too much."

She begins to walk away, before she turns back, suddenly realising something. "Sam?" She calls again. "As we're, well, we don't have a label or anything…and I don't think you would anyway…but please don't mention anything to Grace. I don't want to hurt her, or make her think that anything…I just don't want her to get her hopes up, if this doesn't work out."

"I won't," Sam reassures her. "But I'd really like to hope that this does work out."

"So do I."

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